Demitria Lunetta - In the End

“Soon, hopefully. He’s at work.”

“Oh.” She reaches for a crossbar and leans against the cell door, revealing a tattoo running up her forearm that reads MAD MIKE’S in purple graffiti letters. “I wanted to talk to him about getting my man another tat, as a present.”

I step closer. She’s in her early forties, at least, her shoulder-length hair a mixture of black and gray. “I can let him know you stopped by.”

“Sure. Mike and I are right next door.” She motions with her head to the cell to the left. “I’m Pam.” She holds her hand through the cell bars and I shake it gingerly. My hands aren’t massive, but hers feel like a child’s. “To be honest, I’ve been dying to find out about you. . . . Word got out pretty quickly that Jacks claimed a girl full of hellfire.”

She grins at me.

“Um, thanks.”

“Jacks is a good man. You’ve got quite a catch there.”

I laugh uncomfortably. The idea of me “belonging” to a man is weird enough, but me “catching” one is just ridiculous. The only other guy I’ve ever had feelings for is Rice. Of course, with him, things were tricky. He lied to me, for one thing. Even if it was for my own protection.

And then there was that kiss.

“. . . Jacks,” Pam is saying.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I was just saying you’re lucky to have Jacks.”

“And what makes him such a good protector?” I ask.

“Well, the boy can fight like the devil. But really, he’s got the connections. Everyone knows Jacks. The Warden takes care of him. Doc takes care of him.” She laughs lightly.

“Also, people don’t want to mess with the only tattoo artist in all of Fort Black. If anyone got into it with Jacks, he’d have half of the population of Fort Black on them. Everyone here loves their tats.”

“What they lack in common decency, they make up for with a love of tattoos,” I say, meaning for it to be a joke but sounding cold. Pam’s face drops. “Sorry,” I say. “Except for Jacks, people haven’t been exactly welcoming.”

“It’s okay. It’s hard here. I heard you just found Fort Black. You were out there for so long, poor thing.” She backs away. “Just tell Jacks to find me. I’m going to deliver some sewing now, but I’ll be back soon.”

“Hey, can I come with you?” I feel I’ll be safe with this woman. She seems like a veteran. Besides, if I befriend her, I can find out more about Fort Black.

“Sure.” She nods. “I’d like that.”

I grab my Guardian gun from under my pillow and place it in its holster, then check that my knives are in place—one on each thigh. I throw on one of Jacks’s T-shirts and a pair of his shorts. I’m sure I look strange, like I’m wearing black gloves and tights under my clothes, but I don’t care. I need all the protection I can get in this place.

I unlock the cell door with the key Jacks gave me and step out into the hall. Pam walks to her cell and grabs a basket of clothing, locking her door with a giant padlock.

“Is that how you make a living?” I ask, locking my door and walking toward the stairs, past the other cells. “Sewing?”

“Yeah, Mike is a guard. A Florae sniper, mainly, up on the wall. That gets us our accommodation. The sewing just brings in a bit extra.”

“Was he a guard here Before?”

“Nope, a convict. Armed robbery.” She tells me this casually. “I was his defense attorney.”

“And you got together . . . how?” I ask, trying not to sound shocked.

She smiles. “Oh, he was always flirting with me. He swore up and down that he wasn’t guilty, told me I was beautiful and amazing and was sure to get him out. It didn’t go anywhere, of course. How could it? It was a different world then and I was his attorney, not to mention married. Plus I knew enough to be wary of cons. All of them are innocent, I reminded myself, and every one of them thinks any woman they see in here is beautiful and amazing. If they’re lucky enough to see any at all!” She laughs boisterously at her own joke, the lively sound bouncing through the cellblock.

The loudness makes me uncomfortable. I glance back down the walkway and spot a figure lingering by my cell door. It’s not big enough to be Tank, but a surge of alarm runs through me. Could it be Ken? Maybe Kay was able to contact him and tell him I was here. I take a step back toward the cell, but Pam puts her hand on my arm to stop me.

The figure approaches us and I shrink at the man’s leer. He’s not Ken. He’s just another creepy man. He’s so dirty, I can’t tell the color of his skin. He brushes past us a little too closely. Pam steps aside, pushing me against the railing. My skin tingles as he sweeps by, my muscles tensed and ready. He doesn’t do anything but look, though, and is soon gone.

Pam leans in. “Sometimes it’s better just to get out of their way,” she tells me. “Some men are just plain mean.” She takes in my apprehension and adds, “But not all. Not my Mike. Not Jacks. You’ll learn how it is here.” She resumes her walk and motions for me to follow.

“You’ve been here the whole time,” I ask, catching up.

“I was here when the infection broke out,” she says, “meeting another client. The prison went on lockdown and by the time the guards told me I could leave, the news was so grim. I couldn’t get ahold of my husband, so it was obvious that he—well. So I decided to stay.” She shifts her load onto her other hip.

“When they let the prisoners out, Mike came and found me. He protected me from a lot of bad things that could have happened.” She looks at me, a soft expression on her face. “I love him for that.”

“So . . . was he innocent?”

She laughs. “Hell no. Even when I was his attorney, I knew he’d done it. I guess holding up a liquor store doesn’t automatically make you a bad person.”

I smile. “I guess not.”

I like how talkative Pam is being. I’m sure I can get a lot of information out of her if I just let her ramble on. She’s paused in her story. I see my opportunity to ask her what I really want to know.

“Do you ever do sewing for a man named Ken?”

“Ken Gibbons?” Pam asks. “Big Hispanic guy who goes by Yaya?”

“Um, no . . . this Ken is Asian.”

“There’s an Asian family who lives in the Yard. Actually, I don’t know if they’re a family. There are five guys who share a tent. . . . They’re all Filipino, and they have complicated foreign names, but one might use Ken for short.”

Ken isn’t Filipino, and I doubt he’d be living in a tent in the exercise yard.

“I have a picture.” I yank the sketch out, holding it up.

Pam looks for a moment, then shakes her head. “You sure he’s alive?”

“No,” I admit. “But if he is alive, I really need to find him.”

“I can keep my eye out. But people die here like that.” She snaps her fingers. “I came close last year. Mike saved me.” We walk up the stairs toward the third floor as Pam continues. “Doc was telling some BS story about how the women needed an extra shot, a vitamin shot or something. I told Mike that I’d seen enough people perjure themselves to tell when something was fishy. Mike stood up for me when I refused, made sure Doc didn’t give me a hard time. I’m one of the few women who made it through.”

“What do you mean? I thought the shot was an inoculation.”

She looks me over. “Now, you don’t look like the kind of girl who believes everything you’re told. Did you let Doc give you a shot?”

I shake my head and she nods in approval. “It will be hard to stay away from Doc, Jacks being who he is and all, but you should try. I don’t trust him.”

“You think Doc had something to do with the women dying?”